Looking Back
by DrerrRedclaw
Summary: PostEoE fic. Life after Death. Life without Eva. Life.
1. Looking Back

Looking Back  
By: Dante Abbey  
  
An aging blue compact car pulled up to a stop at the curb  
in front of the building, coughing a pale smoke from the   
exhaust pipe. Slowly, it shuddered to a stop, coughing thrice   
more, then sat still, slowly settling on an unreliable suspension.  
"I told you we should have gotten a new car. I wouldn't be   
surprised if this one died on the way back." The wife stepped   
out of the passenger seat, standing in the morning sun. Looking   
up towards the building from behind mirrored sunglasses, she   
could see a perfect blue sky that almost seemed to float above   
the roof.  
The husband extracted his keys from the ignition, and sighed.   
"I'm sorry... It still works for now. We'll get a new one next   
month." On that, he turned towards the mother and child sitting   
in the back seat. "We ready to go now?"  
The woman nodded, unbuckling her sleeping child and lifting it   
into her arms. "Yes. We can go now."  
The wife walked around the car, heading for the plaque mounted   
on the short wall next that surrounded the apartment block.   
"Hmm..," she muttered, reading. "'Angel War Memorial Museum, Pilot   
Residence, Katsuragi Residence'." She gasped. "And that's   
what they're charging for admission?"  
"What do you expect? They do have to maintain the artifacts,   
right?" Her husband placed his arms around her waist from behind,   
embracing her. "At least we're not paying for our children, too."  
There was a short pause, after which the wife frowned, and   
turned to face him. "You're sure we can trust them with the   
baby sitter? She looked a little young to me. I don't like the idea of  
leaving them...alone, for so long."  
He shrugged. "We had to learn about responsibility at her   
age, too, remember? Besides, she's done all the courses, and   
she was taking care of the neighbour's kids last week..."  
"Shall we go in? They are opening now." Both were distracted   
by their travelling companion. In her arms, the light-haired   
boy began to stir, yawning.  
The outer door opened, and they went through the lobby to   
the elevators. The rest of the lobby and the spacious, airy   
atrium in the centre of the building had been sectioned off   
for the privacy of the building's permanent residents.  
  
During the years following the official end of the Angel War,   
the government had slowly begun purchasing the apartments   
surrounding that of the famed but now-defunct Major Misato   
Katsuragi. Her command skills and tactical prowess had   
achieved legendary status, and the improvised battle plans she   
had developed from inspiration as far-fetched as rod fishing had   
become a much studied field in military academies around the world.  
Not only that, this building was also home to two of the pilots   
themselves, making it an idea choice for the museum site.  
The other residents had never really protested much, seeing as   
how they were well aware of the importance of these individuals   
for the survival of the human race. There hadn't been many by   
the end of the War, either. Most had already moved away. Now,   
however, the apartments in the block were worth a fortune, and   
there were no vacancies. Everyone who could afford it could now   
own an apartment in the same building as the one the pilots had   
once inhabited, a residence of heroes.  
Unfortunately, there were no pilots left to give their opinion or   
discuss the merits of the apartment block itself. After the final   
battle had finally ended, there was nearly no one left.   
There was no surviving footage from that battle, so the exact   
fates of the Second and Third were never determined, nor that of   
the Major. After the cleanup operations were completed,   
Vice-Commander Fuyutsuki made a press statement saying that   
there was almost nothing left of the two Evas, and, much as the   
First had sacrificed herself, it was almost certain that the two   
remaining pilots had likewise done the same to preserve the rest   
of humanity from the artificial Angels sent by SEELE.  
They were immediately lionized as martyrs, even prompting the   
formation of semi-religious sects and re-enactment buffs   
dedicated to the celebration of their work. With all the media   
attention, it may well have been a good thing that the dead pilot's   
didn't have to face the public.   
By the end, they were all so tired of it all that it had been very   
difficult to carry on. The Second Child had been reported as having   
spent nearly a month in a deep coma, incapable of anything other   
than breathing.  
  
"I don't think we're parked legally..," muttered the wife as they   
rode the elevator to the penultimate floor. These elevators only   
had two buttons, again for the privacy of the private residents.   
"You shoud've checked before we stopped."  
He stared at her, unable to articulate for a few long seconds.   
"But... I... Why didn't you say so earlier? I...I could have found   
another parking spot."  
She laughed, poking him in the ribs. "You're so gullible! How many   
times have I said that? I was just kidding, really."  
The other woman didn't say anything, but a slight smile lit up her   
face as she listened to them.   
Finally, the boy woke up, begging his mother to put him down so   
that he could stand by himself.  
After a minute, she smiled fully, and set him down carefully.  
The doors opened on the other side of the elevator, and they   
found themselves in a darkened room with a holographic multimedia   
display playing an animation of the museum's name superimposed over   
NERV's logo. After a short message about the educational goals and   
special features of the museum, they were ushered into the next   
room by a series of lights mounted in the floor and ceiling.  
The next room had once been part of another apartment, but the walls   
had all been knocked out to make space for the front desk. After paying   
admission and receiving a trio of maps, the married couple decided to   
wait for a tour guide to take them through the premises. The other   
woman was led on by her enthusiastic child into the first room, impatient   
to see first hand the stuff of legends.  
Around them, they could already see many of the artifacts. Through the   
archway into the next room, there was an Entry Plug that had been cut   
in half along its long axis so that visitors could see where the pilots   
worked, and how they piloted. There was a large fragment of armour, as   
thick as a man was tall, standing next to the Entry Plug.  
In the other direction, there was a model of Tokyo-3, the Geofront   
and the Command Centre, with glowing lines of lights traced through   
the model to indicate the exit gates and armament buildings.  
Right on schedule, a man appeared, almost out of nowhere, and   
addressed them and the other visitors who had been arriving.   
"Welcome to the Angel War Memorial Museum! This tour will take us   
through the exhibits and, finally, the apartment of the pilots and the   
Major. Feel free to ask any questions!"  
After introducing himself, the guide began the tour. They started in   
the room with the models, where the context of the War was displayed   
in large text on the walls, along with satellite footage of Second Impact   
and the various other preliminary events that had preceded the War.  
  
Of course, the explanation about the Angels was extremely perfunctory,   
and the authors of the texts had carefully mentioned that most of   
the information contained in that particular exhibit was mostly conjecture   
proposed by some of the world's leading scientists after the War was   
already over.  
In fact, quite a few exhibits were treated in this way, explaining nearly   
nothing, yet seeming to have a lot of actual substance. NERV and the   
government still kept tight controls over all files and data related to   
the thirteen official incidents involving Angels.  
Others, however, were considerably more complete, especially those   
detailing the technical aspects of the weaponry and interface systems.   
In one room sat the trigger of a Palette Rifle, a giant curved claw of   
metal that had once served in the War. The walls were covered in diagrams   
and short essays, and some even had accompanying video taken during   
actual Angel conflicts. These, however, paled in comparison to the much   
larger videos playing on the screen in the next room, where a narrator   
retold some of the more important battles. Of course, there was a   
warning about disturbing content, and the couple's friend had opted   
against bringing her son into the theatre.  
One of the incidents in the collage of official tapes was that of the 3rd   
Angel.  
The three dimensional holographic display nearly exaggerated the   
octagonal shape of the Angel to the audience, who gasped in collective   
horror as it opened fire at Unit-01 for the first time.   
The audio had still included the pilot's scream, unedited.  
With a reassuring voice, the narrator explained Major Katsuragi's risky   
operation Yashima, and they watched a time-compressed clip of the   
Positron Sniper Rifle's assembly in one of NERV's hangars. The Angel's   
fiery defeat went down particularly well with the museum's visitors. An old   
man got up on his bench to cheer, drawing hushes from the others.  
The husband smiled at his wife, and the film continued. It became quickly   
apparent, even through heavy editing, that the battles were becoming   
more and more intense, and that humanity had come extremely close   
to complete and utter destruction many times.  
They both shuddered involuntarily as the narrator suggested the   
psychologically destructive capacities of the last Angel on the clip.   
This time, the pilot's howls of pain and pleas for mercy had been cut out,   
sparing the visitors her heart-rending cries.  
Nevertheless, everyone left the theatre with even greater respect for   
the Children, and not a little gratitude. While the tour guide was not   
disrespectful, he had seen the clips enough times to have become fairly   
blasŽ about them, and carried on the tour as he had before the group had   
entered the theatre.  
"I really don't like him," whispered the wife. The husband agreed.  
Finally, they came to the museum's centrepiece. They exited the theatre   
onto the balcony-like hallway of the apartment complex, and the tour guide   
brought them to a door marked only by the simple inscription 'M. Katsuragi'.   
Cameras were pulled out of their bags, flashes turned off, films loaded.  
"Please keep your hands to yourselves," the guide announced, leading   
them through the door into the first room, the kitchen. He took up his   
station here, ready to answer the questions he knew would be coming.  
The husband and wife had none, as they stepped deeper into the   
apartment, looking around.  
  
For tourism purposes, the lights had been changed, replaced by stronger,   
clearer bulbs that illuminated the walls with more clarity than they had   
before. As with the rest of the museum, security cameras were mounted   
in the ceiling. Much had changed.  
For example, the guide pointed out to someone, one of the lesser know   
facts about the Major was the fact that she was a severe alcoholic, and   
that the apartment had been found filled with discarded cans of beer and   
bottles of spirits. After the video, though, the visitors thought they   
could understand why.  
After glancing around the nearly prohibitively small quarters of the Third   
Child, the patriotic old man stood up in the kitchen and delivered an oration   
praising the humbleness of the Children. He went on to say that they could   
have demanded riches or whatever they chose in exchange for their bodies and   
souls, but chose only the simplest of things.  
Soon, the tour group was roiling with applause for the speech; and the   
husband and wife smiled, glanced at each other, and joined in heartily.  
After the furor died away, they continued their exploration of the   
apartment, looking into each room, even that of the pet penguin that had   
once inhabited the premises. They looked at the Second Child's wardrobe,   
the Third Child's cello, the Major's car posters. They went out onto the   
balcony and looked out of the circular lake that had once been Tokyo-3.   
A new city had sprung up around its outskirts, the inhabitants proud just   
to be near the site of so many battles and sacrifices. It was truly inevitable,   
but strange at the same time.  
Certainly, the old cityscape, the one that the pilots would have seen, was no   
longer there. The majestic buildings that had formed the core of the city   
no longer moved up and down according to their daily schedule.  
  
Like everything else from the past, they were only to be seen in   
memories, fading pictures, and monuments like this one. The same was   
true for those who had once made the very sacrifices for humanity.  
The public's vision was a clouded one, their version of events edited and   
controlled by a government that knew all to well the power of knowledge.   
What was presented to the public was indeed a dirty, savage story, but   
so much was left unsaid, left to rot. The only ones who would ever know   
the truth, the whole truth, were those who no longer existed.  
Perhaps it really was better that way.  
  
The couple stood on the balcony a while longer, watching the perfect sky   
over the city, and the lake that was testament to so much pain and suffering,   
wondering how others could see it as a place of glory.  
  
"Mom, I'm hungry. Can we go now?" They turned together as they heard   
the voice of the other woman's son behind them.  
"Yeah," added the wife, casting one last glance back over the city, "I think it   
would be best if we left now."  
Not much later, they rode the elevator back down to the ground floor, walked   
past the security guards and arrived in front of the beat-up blue car. The   
husband noticed a slip of paper tucked under the windshield wiper.  
"Oh..," he said, taking it out, "looks like we were parked badly after all."  
"Dummkopf," the wife chided, "I told you so. Let's get out of here, if this   
stupid car will start again."  
As she leaned over to buckle up the child, who was still complaining of hunger,   
Rei quietly asked Shinji if it would be inconvenient to purchase a meal before   
leaving Tokyo-3 again. Listening to her own stomach's complaints, Asuka   
agreed, then returned to nagging him about getting a new car as it   
sputtered to life again.  
  
-----  
  
Just taking a quick break from writing AotL tonight... I'll have more completed   
by the end of the March break, hopefully. This was just a weird idea that popped   
into my head, and wouldn't leave.   
Had to get it down, otherwise the interference would have severely   
compromised my progress on the other one. And no, this is not how AotL will end.  
  
You can send me C+C at drerr_redclaw@yahoo.com  



	2. Children

Children (Looking Back 3)  
  
Glistening.  
That's what it was. The sunlight made the scar glisten,  
an almost viscous reflection bulging out gently but abruptly  
from the centre of his palm. Shinji looked on with no small  
interest as he guided his hand through a half-rotation at  
the wrist, turning it over in the light. On the other side,  
the exact replica of the scar on his palm; circular, smooth...  
glistening.  
He'd had it for so long that it no longer seemed a blemish,  
not even when he touched his fingers to it. It used to be a  
nervous tic of his, massaging those scars while under  
pressure. Well, one scar, really. It went directly through  
his hand, through the muscles and cartilage...a single,  
cylindrical mass of undifferenciated flesh.  
Of course, he thought, lifting his other hand into the light,  
it had a twin anyway. On his left hand, a perfect mirror  
image of his right, was a similar scar. It, too, was circular,  
and penetrated through his hand to the other side.  
Without really thinking any further on the subject, Shinji  
watched them glisten with a morbid kind of fascination, his  
face at ease and his mind wandering, an almost bored  
expression filling his features. He hadn't looked at those  
scars in a while...they almost faded into his hand with time.  
A soft grunt to his left brought that hand back to its original  
position, cradling a familiar warmth to his side. Satisfied,  
Asuka settled in closer still, dropping the weight of her head  
against his chest. A contented breath only confirmed that all  
was well in the world. Shinji glanced back at his hand and the  
now-imperceptible aberration that rode upon it, then dropped  
it to the thin sheet that covered them both.  
"'Morgen, dummkopf..."  
Asuka's eyes remained shut, as she lazily tried to append  
what further rest she could to her already extended sleep.   
"Hmm...almost afternoon...I think," Shinji replied, half-sleeping  
himself, as he shifted slightly so that he could reach around  
her with his free hand. Asuka clearly approved.  
As he stroked her hair that tangled about her shoulder,  
he found another slight lump just beneath the collar of  
her tee-shirt. The texture was quite familiar to him;  
he'd touched his own glistening scars enough times to  
know a keloid when he felt one. For the moment, however,  
he found it impossible to prevent his fingers from  
lingering over it...almost playing with the abnormal  
contour as he caressed it.  
This scar was almost as known to him as his own. In  
fact, he was well-versed in the locations of the others  
she bore: there was another a handbreath beneath  
this one, riding on the lower edge of her left shoulder  
blade; another between her right kidney and the line  
of her spine, and so on. Seven, in total.  
What was truly frightening about hers, however,  
were that they traveled through her body, and were  
mirrored on the front of her torso. Just like his,  
except that hers often passed through major  
organs and other vital parts of her body.  
"Mwhat time is't?" she slurred, a slow ripple moving  
through her as she moved next to him. She pushed  
a hand between her cheek and his torso, making an  
impromptu pillow for herself. Shinji detached his  
right hand from her scar and managed to maneuver  
it over to the clock radio sitting quietly by his head.   
Squinting, he only barely succeeded in making out the  
numbers against the streaming light of the sun.  
"Twelve...forty-five? About...or is that thirteen?"  
"Must be twelve...look at the sun."  
Shinji looked back to her as she lifted herself off of  
his chest, depriving him of the gentle contact he'd  
been wallowing in all night...and morning, apparently.   
Asuka yawned into her fist, her eyes closing  
involuntarily as she drew herself into a kneeling position  
on the futon. Shinji didn't feel like moving, yet, so  
he stayed put on his back.  
Massaging her neck, Asuka slumped down next to him  
again. Evidently, what volition she'd summoned to kneel  
had left her.  
"Man, am I ever sore...you'd think I'd be used to  
sleeping on the floor by now..."  
His left hand closed around the back of her neck,  
gently opening and contracting his fingers against  
the tight, corded muscles that appeared to be  
the source of her discomfort. It seemed his hands  
were the only part of him that wanted to move this  
morning.  
Smiling, Asuka propped up her chin on her hand.   
"Well, looks like we missed it," she said. "Ah...  
that feels good."  
Shinji frowned. "Missed what?"  
"The only time all week we get to spend alone with  
each other: Saturday morning."  
"Oh." Asuka's head tilted and swayed as she tried  
to get his hand working in the worst spot, a hard  
spasm just next to the nape of her neck. Every  
gentle squeeze seemed to bleed out the pain and  
tension that had built up over night. When one problem  
area disappeared beneath his hand, she let her head loll  
again, guiding it indirectly.  
As if on cue, there was a short scuffling sound from  
the other side of the thin door panels, followed by a  
short, high-pitched whine. Hushing sounds followed,  
and the patter stopped.  
"Be quiet!" whispered one voice, muffled through the  
door.  
"Speaking of the devil," Asuka said, throwing herself  
across Shinji's body. "Or devils," she added, grinning.   
Knowing she wouldn't have much time left, she quickly  
pressed her lips against his. They parted again, as  
the door slid open a crack at the far end of the room.  
"...It only makes sense...they're your children after  
all. And your dog."  
"Hey! He's a very nice dog!"  
The door slid open, rattling in its tracks, and subdued  
noise from the hallway burst inside, trailing two girls  
and a black and white dog in its wake.  
"See? I told you they were awake!" the younger of  
the two shouted, forgetting the mutual pact she had  
made with her sister about being quiet. "See?"  
"Okaasan! Papa!" The elder of the two seemed to  
have forgotten as well, also shouting in the odd  
mixture of German and Japanese she'd been brought  
up on. "Good morning!"  
"Good morning to you, too," Asuka finally said after  
they'd quieted down somewhat, poking the seven  
year-old in the nose as she sprawled out on the  
futon in front of her mother. "And," she added,  
looking at the adolescent husky, "Sit!"  
The dog half-whined, half-snorted, but dropped his  
haunches to the bamboo mat and pricked his ears. The  
ten year-old, on the other hand, remained standing,  
looking down carefully with a pensive frown on her  
face.  
Shinji was the first to notice. "Hey," he said, shaking  
her pant leg,  
"what is it?"  
She obliged him, pointing to a small, pink, circular patch  
on the back of her mother's leg. She squatted down to  
get a closer look, experimentally reaching out to it with  
one finger. "That...what is it? It looks like...it looks like  
the one Arisu has on her arm...except hers is bigger."  
The reference to one of her school-mates eluded  
him entirely, but Shinji held up his hands for comparison.   
"Yeah! That's a scar. I have them too! See?"  
His daughter looked from one hand to the other, then  
back to her mother. Asuka had rolled over part-way  
to see what part of her anatomy they were discussing,  
and was now talking to their other child about the same.  
"Cool...will I get one?"  
Shinji laughed. "I hope not. You don't get scars without  
getting hurt."  
"You got hurt?"  
"Uh-huh. Me and Okaasan were in an accident before  
you were born, remember?."  
"A big, big accident," Asuka threw in, for emphasis.  
"Wow," their daughters said.  
They spent another few minutes prodding and poking  
the scars.   
Asuka looked Shinji in the eyes, and they silently  
exchanged thoughts on patience versus curiosity. When  
it looked like their children weren't going to finish any  
time soon, Asuka leapt off of Shinji without any warning  
and shouted "Springen Sie auf Ihr Vater!"*. Shinji  
understood too late, as he was promptly smothered  
beneath the combined, giggling weight of his daughters.  
Asuka looked down at him, smiling maliciously. Shinji  
tried to look betrayed, but the dog's tongue was  
seriously hampering his efforts. "Inu!" he splurted out,  
"Sit!"  
The dog refused to obey him.  
Feeling a sudden burst of pity, Asuka scooped up her  
children, one under each arm. Shinji tried to fend off  
Inu by himself. He didn't seem to be having much  
success. All three -- mother and daughters -- could  
barely restrain their laughter as Shinji finally wrestled  
the dog over. Shameless, it lifted its paws for a belly  
rub.  
Shinji stumbled to his feet as the two girls continued  
to play with the dog.  
"Urk," he mumbled, wiping at his face with the side  
of his hand.  
"Remind me not to kiss you until we've had a shower,"  
Asuka said, throwing her arms around him playfully.   
Her eyes turned to his face as she rested her head  
against his shoulder. His mind seemed a little distant.  
"An accident," he muttered, almost disdainfully.   
"They're smart girls...they won't believe that much  
longer."  
"No...I guess not. What's scary is that 'a big, big  
accident' isn't that far from the truth, is it?" Asuka  
reached for the scar on her shoulder, feeling it through  
the fabric.  
Shinji shook his head. Their younger daughter giggled  
as the dog slathered her face with the same treatment  
it had given her father. "I...no. Should we? Ever?"  
"I don't want to lie to them forever," Asuka said,  
almost solemn, now. "I don't...I don't like covering up  
the truth like that. It's not good for them."  
She felt his ribs rise and fall heavily before he went  
on. His breath combed easily through her hair, past  
her face. "Then again, the lie is what they're being  
taught in school. It's...it's reality, now, isn't it? It won't  
be so easy to disrupt everything they've been told.  
"I suppose it'd be nice to let them keep that innocence...  
but..."  
"But it's just not true!" Asuka bit down on her last  
statement before she went on, unwilling to disrupt  
their children's play. "We learned Second Impact was  
all a lie, and it didn't bother us..."  
"Yeah...but...that's different."  
Her brow crumpled in thought. "Dammit, it's too  
complicated. And they're not going to like finding out  
that we've been keeping the truth from them,  
too. I mean, look!" She lifted his right hand away from  
her waist, holding it up to the light. The scar glistened  
back at her. "Who's going to believe you got this in a  
car accident? I don't."  
"That's what I'm afraid of."  
They watched their children. Two happy, friendly,  
healthy children. They were proud. Proud of them, and  
proud of themselves.  
"But who's going to believe you when you say your  
parents are two of the three dead Eva pilots?"  
A shrug was the only response. Neither of the two could  
think of a better one.  
The advantage of secrets is that only the bearers need to  
suspect anything. The problem with secrets is that when  
they aren't air-tight...they allow all to suspect. So far,  
there hadn't been much inquiry into their scars...people in  
general were too polite and tactful. So far, no problem.  
"It's your turn today," Shinji said, finally. The silence was  
filled with laughter. He liked it.  
"Baka. Lazy baka." Sighing, Asuka kissed him quickly  
beneath the ear, then left to start breakfast. Shinji  
crouched down between the girls. "I don't suppose you  
two have had your bath yet, today?" he asked, giving the  
dog a cursory scratch on the head.  
"I did!" the older of the two said, sticking her hand into  
the air and waving it wildly. "I had a shower, all by myself!"  
"Well, aren't you all grown up?" The other one looked a  
little embarrassed. "Want me to pour you a bath?" he  
asked, lifting her in his arms. She nodded. With his  
chin, he motioned to the door. "And you, you can help  
your mother make breakf..."  
He'd scarce arrived at the end of his sentence when  
she had already disappeared, shouting "Special breakfast!"  
at the top of her little lungs. Shinji watched her go.  
"So...let's get you clean, shall we?" he asked the younger  
of the two.  
  
-----  
  
Well, there it is. The One-shot in three parts. I don't  
suppose I ever considered this a formal project, but it's  
turning into one. I wrote Looking Back on a whim, because  
AotL was moving slowly. Then I wrote Child because it was  
2:00 AM, and people had been asking about Rei's kid. Now  
it's 4:00 AM, and Shinji and Asuka now have a family.  
  
I don't think there'll be any real story line to Looking Back.   
Just a series of scenes, kind of like Mr. Trujillo's illustrious  
Vignette series.  
  
All this talk of viruses an computers screwing up is kind of depressing, ne?  
  
And I figure with all the trauma I've put this lot through recently, you deserve some WAFF. How about it?  
  
BTW:  
  
*: "Jump on your father!" I had something else in mind, but Altavista is useless.  
  
  



	3. Child

Child (Looking Back 2)  
By: Dante Abbey  
  
The apartment building was small. Smaller than those  
around it anyway. Its simple, white stone walls formed  
a stark study in contrasts with the brilliant emerald  
greens of the trees that surround its base, like an  
unpainted Easter egg, sitting among its colorful brethren.  
For the most part, the island nation lacked seasons.  
The axial tilt had long since been savaged by Second Impact,  
and the massive changes this entailed had triggered mass  
extinctions and other natural disasters. It had also  
triggered new bursts of adaptation, as life recovered and  
responded to the cataclysm.  
Watching a butterfly flutter idly past him, the child could  
not know how very different it was from those thirty  
years before, and why this one no longer shared the same  
phenotype. Nor could he understand why the leaves here  
did not change colour as they did in all the old books.  
He had no concerns in these matters, only a vague and  
fluid preference that would change from day to day. The  
butterfly touched down, closing its wings and walking slowly  
along the ridge of the bench near the building's entrance  
way.  
Intruigued, the child observed its indolent, six-legged walk  
for a while, then turned away to continue moving around  
the pebbles that had spilled over from the gardens  
neighbouring the walkway. Gradually, the butterfly, too,  
grew bored, and spread its wings, and took off in search  
of the nearest flower.  
The child, however, was not the only one who had been  
distracted by the butterfly's erratic path through the late  
summer breeze. Another pair of eyes followed its flight to  
the lip of an iris, where it stopped again, and unfurled its  
long proboscis to feed.  
*It is not useless*, said the thought, surfacing so mildly that  
it hardly disturbed Rei's tranquil state of quiet watching. *It  
feeds the insect*, she continued, silently, *and the insect aids  
its reproductive cycle and encourages its survival.* She  
continued to watch the delicate airborne creature feed for  
several more minutes, then turned her attention back to the  
child who had now created a kind of obstacle course for the  
toy car clutched carefully in his right hand.  
*No life is useless*, she thought, repeating a kind of aphorism  
she had come to understand on her own several years ago.  
Bearing neither smile nor frown, she continued to watch the  
life she had borne. He had a purpose, one he was not  
conscient of, nor worried about. His purpose was to grow, to  
develop, to become. And after that, he would receive a new  
purpose...one which instinct would reveal to him in due course.  
For now, he was not burdened with the question of purpose.  
But like the iris, the carnation, the chrysanthemum, the  
sunflower, his purpose was one of growth. The question of  
purpose would come once he had developed the capacity to  
question, and the capacity to see his place in the world and  
stand in it.  
She remembered the question of purpose.  
Unlike her son, she had been born, or created, as some put  
it, for a very specific function...one which, by her choice, had  
been left unfulfilled and would remain that way until her death.  
The tiniest hint of a smile played across her lips as her child's  
car departed the ground and took to flying in reckless loops  
around his pale head of hair. She...found pleasure in the  
observation of his lively imagination. Indeed, he would not be  
bereft of purpose. Should he find himself lacking one, he would  
have the ability to make himself one.  
Also as she had. For she had chosen to forsake the  
unnatural, yet not wholly artificial purpose that she had  
been given and groomed to complete. It was not a  
matter of disobedience, nor one of spite...a simple  
matter of purpose.  
Life without purpose was life without definition. It  
was an existence in isolation, not necessarily held  
apart from the defining links between individuals,  
but lacking the cohesion that made those links  
meaningful. Life without purpose was life in oblivion.   
Existence without definition. Undefined.  
Loss of self, loss of existence. Loss of existence,  
disparition, death.  
For which reason she had originally thought to cling  
to the provided purpose as a man clings to a life raft.  
The possibility of creating pupose through  
parthenogenesis was masked from her.  
The car had landed now, and was now making its way  
towards the hem of Rei's skirt along the path first  
carved out for it by the delicate feet of the butterfly.  
As it came closer and closer, the child would look  
from it to his mother and back again, knowing that  
it was always amusing to have her lift both him and  
the toy onto the bench.  
In a certain manner of speaking, she had regretted  
Commander Ikari. While she did not understand his  
reasons for giving her her purpose, she had always  
perceived it as something profound and oft beyond  
her comprehension.  
*I am not your doll.*  
She remembered well the shock that had appeared  
on his face, followed quickly by an intense sadness.  
Whatever his intent had been, she had shattered it  
with her newfound purpose.  
The toy car collided soundlessly with the rumpled edge  
of her skirt, but was augmented by a spitting, childish  
onomatopoeia. Rei smiled more, doting, as she placed her  
fingers beneath the child's armpits and lifted him up  
upon the bench next to her.  
She had a different Ikari to thank for her purpose,  
and yet another for showing her what it meant to live  
without purpose. She would not forget them, as she  
would not forget the elder Ikari.  
*I am not your doll. I am alive. I have life. I have  
purpose. It is my own.*  
What of that purpose now?  
It was now one among many. The simple prerogative  
processes of life had been joined by numerous other  
purposes, each acceptable, and some even enjoyable.  
Different means through which she could understand  
what made the individuals around her important.  
*Who am I?*  
She was Yodama Rei.  
No longer Ayanami, the security and secrecy of her  
previous identity sacrificed to the intense investigations  
that had followed the collapse of NERV. Ayanami Rei was  
twice dead. She no longer existed. She was the being  
without purpose.  
There had been another Rei as well, one who had existed  
for ten years following the death of Ayanami Rei. That  
name no longer mattered. That Rei had been finding  
a purpose.  
Now, she was Yodama Rei. She was also Okaasan. She  
was also Assistant Editor Yodama.  
As Assistant Editor Yodama, her stated purpose was  
to review the submitted works for the journal that the  
Chief Editor had decided would be published and return  
a copy with all technical and orthographic errors removed.  
For fulfilling this purpose over an extended period of time,  
Assistant Editor Yodama would receive a certain sum that  
would enable her to satisfy her other purposes. Granted,  
this purpose was one that had been provided to her by  
another, but it was also one chosen of her own free will.  
As Okaasan, her purpose was much more complex. Her  
primary concern was to ensure that the child's  
purpose was fulfilled. Therefore, feeding, raising,  
and protecting the child was paramount.  
This purpose she also found difficult to define. It  
was not as simple as the regular, repetitive tasks  
performed by Assistant Editor Yodama. If her  
child woke in the night with a pain or an  
uncomfortable dream, she called upon herself  
to hold the child and speak to it until it no longer  
cried or asked for her presence. When this had  
been accomplished, it was a fulfillment in part of  
the overall purpose of Okaasan.  
As she reached into the plastic bag next to her,  
she found the pieces of apple she had brought with  
her from the apartment.  
She would share them with her child, and thereby  
be Okaasan.  
The fulfillment of the Okaasan purpose gave her a  
particular joy, and in many respects was not unlike the  
purpose of Yodama Rei.  
The purpose of Yodama Rei had not become readily  
apparent for several months.  
At first, when the polite young man from the office  
several doors down from the office where the Assistant  
Editor worked had inquired about her availability on a  
certain date at a certain time, she had not known what  
to make of it. She could not recall any task that had been  
scheduled for the lunch hour the following Monday, and  
she had said so.  
After that, the lunch hour meeting had become a  
regular occurence, with occasional forays into the  
dinner hour. The young man said, on several occasions,  
that he had been struck with the clear, direct honesty  
of the Assistant Editor, and that he had not met anyone  
with trait so clearly evident. The Assistant Editor found  
another person through which she could define herself,  
and was astonished at times to recognize how easy it  
was to identify herself through this person.  
In that respect, it was not entirely unlike how she  
defined herself through Ikari. This young man was  
concerned for her well-being, as Ikari was, sometimes  
more so, because he would worry about minor  
details that had not been perturbing to her or Ikari.  
Additionally, she had discovered that she was not only  
coming to define herself through him, but also that he  
was defining himself through her. A self-evident truth,  
but not always to the degree she could now recognize  
in him.  
Besides the growing dependence on the lunch hour  
meetings, however, she had not yet come to understand  
the reasons for which he depended on them. Certainly, he  
had other friends with which to share the lunch hour.  
Chewing thoughtfully, Rei extended another piece of cut  
apple to the child, who took it gleefully and crammed it  
into his mouth.  
Upon the death of his partially estranged father, however,  
Rei had come to see what the young man's dependence was,  
and why she, too, looked forward to those meetings. Unlike  
Commander Ikari, the young man cried in the graveyard and  
leaned on her. In response, she realized that this openness  
was what he relied on in her, and to receive his openness  
in return made her...feel different. More complete, in a  
sense. It was only the tiniest taste of what she would  
have felt had she decided to accomplish and fulfill the  
requirements of the original purpose laid out for her, but  
it was not wrong this time. It was her choice.  
There were several long discussions with the Ikaris.  
The young man left himself open to her and continued to  
do so.  
Thus the decision was made to create the purpose of  
Yodama Rei.  
The last piece of apple was judiciously snapped in half and  
shared. The child smiled and wiped his hands on his pants.  
Rei took his hands, still sticky, and wiped them on a disposable  
napkin. The child glanced sheepishly at her for a while, looking  
for any sign of disapproval, but finding none. He smiled  
meekly. Rei smiled as well.  
She smiled often.  
The decision to create the purpose of Okaasan was made a  
few years following that. A kind of extension of the role of  
Yodama Rei, and another choice made.  
There was a discussion with Dr. Ibuki, the choice taken to  
discontinue the perpetual use of the special contraceptives  
over a single week-long period, and, if successful, until the  
end of the full term. She still did not bleed, as others did.  
And thus began the role of Okaasan.  
Standing from her seat on the bench, she gathered the  
plastic bag which had contained the apple slices, and placed  
it in the appropriate trash receptacle. The child followed her,  
standing near her legs and clutching his toy car in one hand.  
Then, she returned to the bench and lifted his backpack over  
her shoulder.  
For the moment, she only filled the roles of Assistant Editor  
Yodama and Okaasan. The young man was currently embroiled  
in business negociations with an American firm. He had to  
fulfill his new role of Senior Manager Yodama.  
It was, however, less than two days until she would take  
the mantle of Yodama Rei once more. She had told the child  
this many times, that the young man would resume his role  
of Otousan soon enough, although in simpler terms. The child  
was pleased. So was she.  
As they approached the doorway that led into the apartment  
building, the butterfly that had first crossed paths with them  
when they had sat down by the bench floated past and came  
to rest on another flower by the door. The child was captivated  
for a moment, and she crouched down to observe it with  
him, before it flew away again.  
*No life is useless*, she thought to herself.  
The child laughed, waved at the butterfly as it spread its wings  
and departed, then turned to smile at his mother.  
"Live," Rei said.  
She stood to unlock the front door of the squat white apartment  
building wreathed in green where she lived. The apartment  
building where she was when she was not Assistant Editor  
Yodama, where she lived as Okaasan, and where she would  
resume being Yodama Rei in a few short days.  
The child, the hand not holding the car comfortably resting in  
one of hers, walked into the building with her.  
  
-----  
  
After writing Looking Back a few months ago, I got a whole load of  
mail asking who the hell fathered Rei's kid. I answered those  
questions the best I could, but I woke up two nights ago with  
the idea of answering that question in the form of a fic.   
Why not?  
  
So, here it is. Again, I've left the child and his father nameless,  
save for their last name. (Which, for some strange  
two-o-clock-in-the-morning-i-m-tired-and-i-need-caffeine  
reason came out as Yodama. I think it's from one of the  
BattleTech characters, Shin Yodama, a yakuza in the service  
of House Kurita, of all people...hmm...)  
What the hell was I thinking? Too late now...  
  
I'm not sure whether I go on with this. Looking Back was  
meant as a one-shot, but I wouldn't be unhappy if I did a  
few more.  
  
Tomorrow, it's back to writing AotL. Or brainstorming, rather.  
  



End file.
